


Recrudescence

by Kuroeia (Empatheia)



Category: D.Gray-man, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5577502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Kuroeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very bad case of mutual déjà vu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recrudescence

**Author's Note:**

> [2015 DGM Secret Santa](http://dgmsecretsanta.tumblr.com/) fic for [trickstergames](http://trickstergames.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  **Prompt:** _Hogwarts AU where, one way or another, Cross and Tyki end up having the angriest make out(/sex) in Hogwarts history. Whether they're students or teachers is entirely up to the filler, though I'd also really enjoy seeing a mildly traumatized and unimpressed Allen and/or Rhode find out at the end._

  
**recrudescence:** _a new outbreak after a period of abatement or inactivity_  


Cross stared down from the window across the green at the new Care of Magical Creatures professor, who was currently surrounded by a swarm of butterflies and starry-eyed children.

There was something about the man that annoyed Cross to an unreasonable degree. They’d barely spoken two words to each other since the inaugural feast three weeks ago, and the good Professor Mikk had never put so much as a toe out of line in all that time, but there was... something about him. It was going to drive him up the wall if he didn’t figure it out.

“Professor Marian,” said a mild voice at his elbow, “keep staring like that and people will start to wonder.”

“Only if you start spreading rumours,” Cross said absently.

The headmaster sighed, disappointed. He enjoyed getting a rise out of Cross, and Cross usually enjoyed retaliating, but he wasn’t biting today.

“I have to entertain myself somehow,” the headmaster said, almost whining.

“You run a school full of wizard children,” Cross pointed out, “how can you possibly be bored? They’re always setting themselves on fire by accident or exploding their potions or running into that damnable tree. If it weren’t so exhausting, I’d hardly ever stop laughing.”

“I disagree with your idea of ‘entertainment,’ Cross.”

“Maybe you should lighten up, Komui.”

Komui made a prim noise.

Cross hid a grin.

“Why are you staring at him, anyway?” Komui asked after a moment. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be interested.”

Cross shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. Something. It’s bothering me.”

“Well, just don’t be surprised when the students start asking embarrassing questions. They can be so astute at the most inconvenient of times.”

That Cross knew full well. He scowled.

Having made his point, Komui swept out, the edges of his pale robes tailing elegantly after him. 

The lesson was ending, which meant Cross was going to have his own classful of little monsters to deal with in short order. Yet again, he regretted letting himself get corralled into taking this teaching position when the Ministry had come down on him. He was genuinely grateful for Komui’s quick action in seizing the opportunity provided by old man Chang’s retirement and thereby saving him from a spell in Azkaban, of course, but some days, he thought he might have had more fun in the clink.

Auror work had been hard, dangerous, and unpredictable, but that was what he had liked about it. Teaching might provide a relatively safe, comfortable, and secure lifestyle, but it did so at the price of most of his sanity. He wanted to go hunt something, but while there were plenty of dangerous things to be found on the Hogwarts campus, he wasn’t allowed to raise a finger to any of them. It was infuriating. He should have run when he had the chance.

If he didn’t still have the threat of Azkaban hanging over his head....

If the headmaster’s sister didn’t have a knack for making eyes at him at the exact right moment and deflating his determination....

His scowl deepened. He’d have to do some magical maintenance on his face soon, if this kept up; he could almost feel the wrinkles digging in. He must look nearly forty. Unacceptable.

Sighing heavily, he picked up his textbook -- who taught Transfiguration with _books_ , honestly -- and headed off to his classroom. Maybe he’d make someone cry today. That would cheer him up.

*

Tyki missed the mines.

It wasn’t that the work was bad; caring for the animals was fun, and the children were darling most of the time. Looking after the grounds was nice, solid labour, too. It would be a fine job, all told, if not for Road.

He was teaching a combined class of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs today. Fifth years. Road, naturally, had gotten herself Sorted into Ravenclaw when she’d first gone undercover several years ago, and seemed to be having the time of her life tormenting her teachers.

The ranks of which now included him.

“Come now, professor, it’s a very simple question,” she said blithely, batting her eyelashes. “Why so secretive?”

Forty curious pairs of eyes hemmed him in.

It was a simple question. He had an answer, too. He’d just hoped to avoid the discussion, which Road damn well knew.

“I didn’t study at Hogwarts,” he said with as much cheer as he could muster. There was no need to take it out on the children. He’d just have to tan her hide later, if he could catch her. “So, I wasn’t in any of the houses.”

“If you didn’t study here, then where?” asked one of the other children, a Hufflepuff boy with a startling head of white hair and a nasty-looking scar across his left eye.

Road shot the boy a look full of undisguised affection, and Tyki blinked. He didn’t have time to wonder about that right now, though.

The Earl had drilled him on his assigned backstory before sending him off on this mission, of course. He hadn’t been given much room to argue.

_All of the current teachers are Hogwarts alumni,_ said the Earl, _so you can’t pretend to have attended. They’ll notice soon enough that no one remembers you and the records don’t mention you. With Sheril’s recommendation backing you, though, they won’t ask questions if you say you attended under him._

It made perfect sense, really, and it wasn’t like he had anything against the place itself. It wasn’t even entirely a lie. He _had_ been enrolled. It wasn’t like he’d had any choice in the matter, being the headmaster’s younger brother. He’d just skived off whenever possible, so he barely remembered anything about it.

“Beauxbatons,” Tyki answered finally, feeling tired enough for a nap even though it was barely noon.

The children stared at him in frank disbelief, which just added insult to injury.

He couldn’t blame them, though, really. He hardly looked the part, with his shaggy hair and tatty robes and casual slouch. Still.

“Oh, you don’t believe me?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, honestly, sir--” 

Sighing, he took his glasses off, swept his hair back with a hand, and fixed his posture. He’d spent so much time unlearning all of this, but it still came back so easily whenever he gave it an inch. “How about now?”

Road looked delighted. The rest of the class, somewhat star-struck, which was more satisfying than he’d meant to let it be.

He let it slip and replaced his glasses, feeling immediately more comfortable again.

“If you’re all satisfied, maybe we could get on with the lesson?”

The class nodded mutely, as one.

He grinned. “Fantastic. So, who can see this little beauty?” he asked, drawing the thestral out from her stall and laying his hand on her withers.

Two hands went up: Road’s, and her white-haired friend’s.

Tyki raised his eyebrows. “What’s your name, boy?” he asked, as gently as he could manage.

“Allen,” the boy answered, looking faintly ill.

Tyki managed to keep his eyebrows from crawling up off his forehead with a great effort of will. Road’s surveillance target? What was she doing making moon-eyes at the traitor’s potential vessel? If he turned out to be what the Earl thought he was, they’d have to take him in, and things might get ugly. Making friends would just make everything more unpleasant for everyone involved.

“Well, Allen,” Tyki croaked, then cleared his throat and continued. “You must’ve seen a thing or two in your life, if you can see this.”

For a moment, Allen’s eyes became depthless, haunted things. Then he plastered a smile on so tidily that Tyki could only admire his self-control and said “I may have, sir.”

Road took his arm and patted it gently. He looked at her, faintly baffled, but didn’t pull it away.

 _What a mess,_ Tyki thought.

And to top it all off, his own target was watching him from the tower again. The back of Tyki’s neck had been uncomfortably prickly for almost an hour. The man just didn’t let up, and Tyki could hardly confront him about it without making himself look suspicious.

He just had to endure it, until he could confirm whether there was a worthwhile threat here, and then get out. 

However long that took.

He missed the mines so much.

*

Cross spent the hour between his last class and dinner scrubbing the stench of onions out of his clothes and swearing under his breath.

He would prefer to do his swearing more loudly, but the portrait of Ignatia Wildsmith on the wall got really huffy whenever he got colourful, and he was tired of arguing the merits of judicious profanity with her. She was too Ravenclaw to ever concede defeat, and he was too Slytherin to bother winning fairly, so he had eventually realized he’d either have to call a truce on the topic or shut her up in a closet, and he’d never hear the end of the latter if the Ravenclaw head ever got wind of it. 

(Ignatia was an ancestor of Bak’s on his father’s side, supposedly. Cross could see the resemblance.)

Biting his tongue on a particularly savage string of epithets, he ran his cloak through one more set of cleaning spells. The wonderful thing about Ravenclaw students was that many of them were actually interested in learning and did their best to figure things out. That was also the worst thing about Ravenclaw students, because it meant sometimes they invented things -- things like charmed onion-shaped stink bombs -- and sometimes said inventions worked devastatingly well. His embarrassment had been further compounded by the fact that this was a first-year class, which meant the culprit had barely come up to his waist.

To be fair, he’d probably deserved it. He preferred a feet-first method of teaching, which meant he liked to occasionally turn students into various things at random to keep them on their toes and help them understand what Transfiguration felt like from a first-person perspective. He hadn’t had his guard up when he’d turned the boy’s friend into a ferret, which was his own failing.

Still, it had taken a considerable effort not to turn the boy into an onion himself on the spot and send him to the kitchens just in time for dinner. Of all the personal offenses the boy could have offered Cross, ruining his clothes was near the top of the unforgivable list. Honestly he thought Komui ought to give him a medal for restraint.

All that said, the boy really was a dab hand at charms. Someone ought to take him under their wing and nurture that astonishing talent.

Someone other than him. Obviously.

*

Tyki’s target came to dinner, despite looking very much like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Not for the first time, Tyki wondered what the headmaster had on Cross. Komui didn’t seem all that intimidating, as wizards went, but one blithe, sharp-edged smile from him and Cross knuckled right under. It was quite a sight to behold.

So far, Tyki hadn’t seen much worth reporting back to the Earl. Cross taught his classes (for a certain value of the word “teach”), ate his evening meals in the hall with everyone else, and had already invited half the female staff back to his quarters for drinks and palaver. A prickly, callous man to everyone who wasn’t a reasonably attractive woman. He was obviously here because he had little other choice, but Tyki hadn’t been able to ascertain the why of that just yet, beyond vague rumours that Cross had veered off the straight and narrow on his last mission somehow.

As a wizard, he was obviously formidable; equally puissant in the realms of Charms and Transfiguration and a terrifying force when it came to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Very decent at Herbology, too, with no obvious weaknesses in the other subjects. Some of those rumours Tyki had his ear to whispered that Cross might be a necromancer, and Tyki frankly had little trouble believing that. If any wizard outside Tyki’s clan could stick his fingers into the realm of the dead and come away unscathed, it would have to be him.

All of that aside, though, the most troubling thing about him was the odd sense of familiarity he inspired in Tyki. Tyki was very sure he’d never met the man in his life, beyond being shown a magical photograph at the start so he’d know who he was looking for, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he ought to know more than he did.

Of course, that wasn’t an entirely uncommon feeling for him, being what he was.

The Earl had worked long and hard on the problem, but still hadn’t found a way to preserve his clan’s human memories when they took new bodies. Their immortal spirits always made the transfer quite unscathed, as they had since the very beginning, but there seemed to be no way at all to hold onto the mortal memories of each lifespan once it ended.

Only the Earl himself, therefore, was truly immortal, having made the Philospher’s Stone within his own body all those centuries ago. The rest of them had only drunk of the elixir of life afterwards, at his behest, and were therefore incomplete. They aged very slowly and weren’t prone to illness, and when they died their spirits were quickly reincarnated elsewhere, but without their memories they could hardly be said to be the same people they’d been.

All that remained, in the end, were their special magical gifts, their general dispositions and a nagging sense of déjà vu whenever they ran into things they’d encountered before in their previous lives.

It wasn’t all that surprising that his former self had encountered Cross, as he understood Cross had been a thorn in their collective side for a very long time, but it _was_ surprising that the Earl hadn’t seen fit to mention it. If Cross had a chance at recognizing him despite his new body, his ignorance put him at risk.

The only conclusion he could draw with what little information he had was that perhaps the Earl hadn’t known, which was an entirely new and interesting can of worms.

It wasn’t easy for the Noah to keep anything from their lord and progenitor.

Tyki narrowed his eyes. For once, Cross wasn’t staring at him, opting instead to stare down the long student tables at something that was evidently offending him.

Tyki followed his line of sight and found Road immediately, sitting back to back with Allen. Their tables were parallel and close enough together that she could lean back and tease him whenever she pleased, which seemed to be often. Allen looked a bit put-out about it, but wasn’t stopping her.

Tyki wasn’t alone in thinking that was a disaster waiting to happen, then, even if Cross didn’t know what Road was. He’d known that Cross was meant to be a mentor of sorts to Allen, almost an adoptive father, but he hadn’t seen any evidence of that until this moment. Cross seemed to almost aggressively disregard Allen’s existence most of the time. Tyki almost felt bad for the boy.

But then, if the boy was what the Earl thought he was, Cross’ reserved approach made painful sense.

An ugly mess, top to bottom. He’d be glad to get out of here when this was all sorted out.

Having noticed Tyki’s observation, Cross abruptly swivelled to look back at him, visible eye narrowing. Tyki smiled blandly at him and gave him a little wave. Cross didn’t react at all, only held his gaze for a moment longer then looked down at his dinner.

A dangerous man, to be sure.

But then, so was Tyki.

*

The term wore on, and Cross achieved a degree of loathing for his job so intense that it granted him a kind of paradoxical serenity. He swept into his classes like a derisive thunderstorm, never had a good word for anyone, and he knew his students hated him, and it all made him feel almost cheerful. At least no one expected him to settle in and discover that he actually liked the job and transform overnight into a decent teacher anymore.

Despite all that, his students appeared to actually be learning things, if only out of desperate self-defence. None of them would have any trouble with their exams, at the very least.

He’d hoped originally to be bad enough at the entire thing for Komui to throw up his hands and fire him, but as long as Cross wasn’t actively harming the students or looking slantwise at Komui’s little sister, nothing he did seemed to make Komui do more than blink disapprovingly.

He was an unscrupulous enough person to do either of those things, of course, but doing the first would bring the Ministry down on him even harder than they were already riding him, and the second meant risking Lenalee’s wrath, which was every bit as terrifying as her brother’s. As a fellow Slytherin, he knew better than to put his foot too far out of line if he wanted to keep it.

So he endured. Bitterly.

And in his off-hours, stalked the groundskeeper obsessively. The nagging feeling hadn’t gone away, and he was now sure it was more than just automatic dislike. It was more like _familiarity_ , like he ought to know (and loathe) this person but couldn’t quite place him.

The feeling had been at its strongest on that early day when Mikk had demonstrated his noble upbringing to the Care of Magical Creatures class, so Cross looked for opportunities to push him into that again. They were infuriatingly difficult to find; provocations seemed to slip off him like water from a duck’s feathers. Cross wasn’t even sure why Allen asking him on the first day had worked at all. Many other students had asked since, and he’d only smiled blithely and told them to focus on their assignments unless they wanted to lose their fingers.

He was a much better instructor that Cross was, if a little prone to laziness. Very patient, reasonably eloquent, and he actually seemed to enjoy it when students got things right. If Cross had had any interest in doing his job right, he might have felt a little inferior.

He put that thought away with considerable force and turned back to the task at hand, which he had arbitrarily decided was _not_ stalking, even though it absolutely was stalking by any reasonable standard.

Wizards as powerful as he was didn’t get caught up in piddly semantic issues like that.

Mikk seemed quite comfortable in his little shack at the bottom of the green, though it had very little in the way of luxuries. That was at odds with his apparently noble background, to the point where Cross honestly wasn’t certain which of his faces was real.

Eventually he caved in and asked Komui to let him see Mikk’s recommendation letter, which Komui did. It shed no light at all; all the Beauxbatons headmaster said was that Mikk had been an exemplary prefect, very hardworking, and that he highly recommended Mikk for the Care of Magical Creatures position, which he heard had recently opened up due to an unfortunate accident.

All of that was true enough. The previous professor, Yeegar, had turned up quite dead in the thestral stable, having apparently been trampled to death. An investigation had been made but turned up no evidence of foul play.

It didn’t smell right to Cross. Yeegar’s death, Kamelot’s recommendation, Mikk’s flawless dual facades, his own unsettled sense of recognition... none of it.

He resolved to get to the bottom of it. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his time.

*

Being stalked was unnerving, Tyki realized. He’d done his fair share of it over the years, and was actually in the middle of a good stalk at the moment, but he’d never realized quite how strange it felt to know someone was dogging one’s own shadow and prying their fingers under the edges of one’s own mask.

It certainly made it a lot more difficult to do his own part, as he couldn’t watch Cross back without their eyes meeting most of the time, and that made things very awkward.

He made do with some truly burglaresque tactics: walking on air to spy through windows, hiding inside solid things to eavesdrop whenever he felt sure he could conceal himself effectively enough to do so. The care of magical creatures was entertaining, but this avant garde form of Transfiguration was his real talent, and it felt good to stretch his legs. So to speak.

That said, he may as well have been eavesdropping on a drunken, lascivious brick. Cross spent his evenings drinking; occasionally alone, but much more often with female company, to whom he said nothing that was revealing in any sense but the prurient.

Tyki hadn’t thought himself particularly modest or naïve on the topic, but he was beginning to reevaluate that idea. He would’ve left early to spare his own ears a number of times, but reminded himself that pillow talk was often a profoundly useful source of information. He had a mission. He’d just have to endure.

The worst of it, though, was the déjà vu. If not for that he wouldn’t have been particularly troubled, but it was one thing to hear all the debauched things going on, and quite another to feel like he ought to know all about it on a very personal level.

Rubbing his prickly skin, Tyki frowned and adjusted his position within the tower roof. He’d kept enough distance to avoid being seen, and therefore to avoid actually seeing anything, and he was glad for the legitimate excuse.

Occasionally it occurred to him to feel guilty -- one of his souls was human, after all, and had something approaching a conscience -- but it never translated to action.

He had a mission.

In whatever way was necessary, he just had to endure.

*

Cross wasn’t used to being the one watched, and he didn’t like it. When he’d been an Auror, he’d gotten very good at hiding himself when necessary using various necromantic techniques and Transfiguration tricks, and he’d used that knack to do a lot of spying. No one had ever really spied on _him_ before.

At the moment, he knew he was being watched, but he couldn’t catch anyone at it, and that was galling beyond belief.

Of course he knew exactly who it was, but knowing who it was wasn’t the same as catching him in the act, and Komui would never let him kill anyone without solid proof.

The only thing to do was turn the tables, but of course he was already doing that, and it wasn’t enough. Mikk was delicate, cautious. He had yet to make a mistake.

He would. It was just a matter of whether he’d slip up before Cross did.

Whatever Mikk was there for, he was an enemy. Cross felt reasonably sure of that now. The problem was that as an Auror, he’d made plenty, and he wasn’t sure which one this answered to or what he wanted. He could think up a dozen reasons for someone to be coming after him here, without even addressing the less likely options.

So why did he keep thinking of the Earl and his Noah?

They were a possibility, but nowhere near the top of the list. They’d gone radio silent thirty-five years ago following the betrayal of one of their own, and had hardly been heard from since. Cross had been intimately involved in that entire affair, so they had good reason to hate him, but it had all blown over decades ago as far as anyone but him knew. The fact that he was _still_ involved should have been top secret.

If Mikk was a Noah, and here because of his involvement with Allen, he had a big problem.

Vindictively, he hoped Mikk was having an uncomfortable time up there. Cross was much too experienced and cautious to ever let anything pertinent slip in pillow talk, so Mikk was wasting his time anyway.

Brigitte reached over him to retrieve her pocketwatch from the nightstand. It was elegant and silver and suited her very well. Clicking it open, she frowned.

“I should be going,” she said pragmatically. “If I don’t get enough sleep, my work will be compromised.”

Cross doubted that. She was almost intimidatingly good at her job, much like the headmaster whose deputy she was.

“You’re welcome to stay,” he said.

She pursed her lips and actually seeemed to consider it this time. “Not tonight, but thank you. Sleep well, Professor Marian.”

He raised his eyebrows and sighed. He hadn’t been “Professor Marian” a few minutes ago, but he was always Professor Marian afterwards, and he knew well enough what it looked like when someone wanted to reestablish some healthy distance. He liked her, but not so much that her withdrawal stung. He didn’t press.

“Likewise, Miss Fey.”

A few minutes later, when he was sure she was well out of earshot, he looked ceilingwards. “Enjoy the show?”

There was no answer, of course, but he could almost taste his stalker’s chagrin. Of course he would’ve assumed that he was safe, considering the unusual skill with which he’d concealed himself, but Cross could feel him. It seemed like Cross could always feel him.

He had of course warned Brigitte from the beginning that they might be watched, but she hadn’t seemed to think it was much of a problem. In the wizarding world, walls always had ears, and frequently eyes. She was a pureblood, and had grown up with it. It didn’t bother her like it might have bothered a Muggleborn.

Like him.

Most people seemed to assume that he was a pureblood working under a Muggle pseudonym. That suited him well enough, because there were many places in the wizarding world that were inaccessible to anyone with the wrong blood in their veins. If they thought he had the right stuff, so much the better.

His friend in the ceiling hadn’t moved. A wise decision, as Cross might have decided he’d just imagined it if he’d been any less sure.

“You’re good,” Cross admitted, “but you aren’t going to win.”

The presence in the ceiling shifted, paused, then melted away into the night. It was neatly done. Cross admired it to the extent that it deserved admiring. It didn’t erase that fact that he was fed up and ready to do some murder.

He just needed an opportunity.

*

Tyki returned to his bungalow, cursing softly under his breath.

He’d suspect that Cross had known he was there, but hadn’t expected to be called out directly. He was off-balance. Again.

Or perhaps, _still_.

Every time, it bothered him more. He didn’t _remember _, not exactly, but... somehow, in some way, he _knew_. He knew the timbre of that voice mid-coitus, he knew the flicker of candlelight through that long red hair, he knew every callus on those fingers.__

__He’d had déjà vu many times before, and he knew what it meant that he was having it this strongly now._ _

__It wasn’t a memory. It wasn’t memory, but it wasn’t forgetting, either. He just _knew_._ _

__The Earl should definitely have warned him, if he’d known. But Tyki was very sure now that he hadn’t. Whatever had happened in his last life, he’d kept it from the Earl, capriciously or out of shame or for some other reason he couldn’t guess at now from beyond the curtain._ _

__The real question was what to do now._ _

__His mission hadn’t changed. If Cross or his protégé were a threat, Tyki and Road would bring them in, or eliminate them if taking them alive wasn’t possible. That wouldn’t really be a problem, he hoped. It wasn’t like he’d been in love with Cross -- probably -- and he certainly wasn’t now. It was more that he worried that if Cross figured out what he just had, Cross would remember some weakness of his that he didn’t remember having, and gain the advantage._ _

__It was a dangerous situation, complicated by the fact that he was having... some trouble separating his déjà vu emotions from his present reality._ _

__Tyki stared down at his recalcitrant nethers and gritted his teeth._ _

__Familiarity was one thing. That was something he was used to. He ran into things he was familiar with despite not recognizing them in any meaningful way all the time. This was quite another, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it._ _

__It wasn’t just that he knew those calluses. He _missed_ them. He knew all those details, yes... and he felt a powerful drive to relearn them, again, as the person he was in this life. Perhaps to connect himself to the person he’d been before, by connecting with someone who had known him. Or perhaps just because he’d lived almost thirty years in this life already and hadn’t let anyone get close enough to touch him yet._ _

__Or perhaps it was even simpler than that._ _

__He tried to picture how it might have happened, back then. He knew a few details about what he’d been like; nothing really helpful for this, just superficial things for the most part._ _

__Road had wistfully told him he’d been beautiful. She had of course hastily added that he was beautiful now, too, but Road’s tastes generally ran in other directions so he wasn’t offended by the accidental insult. (It was part of the reason he was so surprised by her interest in her current target; Allen Walker was pretty enough, but he certainly wasn’t a pretty girl.)_ _

__Tyki had been a very pretty girl, he gathered, and quite comfortable in his skin. It seemed hard to imagine not being a man, now, but he wasn’t as attached to the trappings as he could be. If he woke up the next day... otherwise, he had a hard time imagining himself having much of a problem with that, either._ _

__A pretty girl, prone to wolfish grins. Easygoing. Casually arrogant. Enjoyed poking people’s weak spots, but rarely poked hard enough to leave lasting damage. The black sheep of her noble family._ _

__Essentially the same person he was now, really, with only superficial differences._ _

__The person he had been then had wanted Cross enough to keep their dalliances a secret from the Earl, and had somehow managed to keep Wisely and Road from looking closely enough or from telling the Earl if they’d cottoned on._ _

__The person he was now wanted to do his job and go back to the bright, simple life he’d made for himself. But he _also_ wanted to find out what had made all his predecessor’s efforts worth it._ _

__Nebulously furious with everything and no one in particular, he tipped over onto his rough bed and drew his knees up a little._ _

__Endure, he told himself._ _

__Endure._ _

__

____

*

Cross didn’t miss the change in the tenor of Mikk’s observation. He would’ve had to have been entirely dense.

Calling him out had done something. The problem was, Cross wasn’t sure exactly what. Mikk’s gaze was heavier, almost oppressively warm, not far off from inviting. Cross knew what to do with inviting, generally speaking, but his usual response would be ill-advised here. Either it was a trap and Mikk thought he had the advantage, or it was something else and Cross didn’t have enough information to act intelligently yet.

So he bided his time. It was something he was very good at.

Mikk stopped eavesdropping on his intimate moments, which was amusing, but intensified his surveillance in every other area, which was not. Cross, in turn, dug his charmed Golden Snitch out of his suitcase and sent it to snitch for him. It was something everyone really ought to have thought of, but apparently hadn’t; Snitches were fast, quiet, and hard to spot. Everything that made one challenging prey in a Quidditch game made it ideal for this, and he’d been taking full advantage for decades. It would be useful here, too.

He also, after a moment’s thought, gave it a new and formidable set of teeth, so it could give those damnable butterflies a hard time while it was at it.

He didn’t learn anything useful, but he knew Mikk wouldn’t have learned anything useful about him, either. He’d been casually ignoring Allen for the entire year, after all. Not to the point where his avoidance would become obvious; he just didn’t pay any more attention to Allen than he did to anyone else, and he wasn’t any gentler or more urgent with him whenever the necessity came up. If Mikk already knew Allen was supposed to be special to him, Cross intended to confuse him on the topic as much as possible.

Autumn wore on, interminably. Very little changed, and the stagnant air made for a kind of tension that eventually became unbearable in its own right.

Cross, despite his best efforts, became unfortunately fond of several of his students, Jan the villainous inventor chief among them. He had recently come up with a smoke bomb that could make an entire room absolutely impenetrable for upwards of an hour. Cross had had to cancel the rest of the class to deal with it. Couldn’t be helped. (Jan was definitely his favourite.)

The first snow of the year came early, surprising everyone in the first week of December and raising further eyebrows by sticking around. Another heavy fall landed four days before the Christmas Feast; if it had come a day earlier, the Express might not have made it through. As it were, they were essentially snowed in, and that made for some fairly intense cases of cabin fever amongst both the student and professor cohorts.

Eventually, the professors got over their differences and worked together to melt a large open space on the green so that everyone could get some fresh air. 

Cross would’ve given his left arm for the chance to leave the castle for a while, but Komui had looked at him before he’d gotten the second word of his request out and the rest had slunk back down his throat to sulk. He might be filling the position, but he wasn’t just an ordinary teacher. He was essentially here under house arrest. He’d do well not to forget it. (Or so said Komui’s obnoxiously eloquent stare, he was fairly sure.)

It was uncanny, how many things the man could say without actually saying any of them.

Allen, of course, had stayed for the holidays as well. He’d never had a home to begin with, and now the only person he might have gone to visit was no longer within mortal reach. He wore a determinedly cheerful smile every time Cross spotted him, and it hurt Cross to look at it, even with his carefully constructed defences firmly in place.

At least Mikk didn’t seem to be here for Allen, as far as Cross could tell. Sometimes he seemed to follow Cross’ gaze and find Allen by accident, but he didn’t seem to think much of it when that happened. Cross was apparently his sole target.

That was a relief. He could handle a stalker who was after him personally. A threat to Allen would have been much trickier, as he would have had to find a way to handle it quietly before Allen cottoned on without getting himself (rightfully) accused of murder.

He caught Mikk’s eye across the ersatz yard they’d helped to make and grinned very slightly in a wholly unfriendly manner. Mikk’s eyes widened, then he answered with a grin of his own, his almost _alarmingly_ friendly.

Cross caught himself on the brink of a scowl and turned away.

It could be worse. At least he wasn’t bored.

*

For the last few days before Christmas, Tyki gave up on stalking Cross the usual way.

It wasn’t just because of how hideously cold it was in the walls, though that hadn’t helped; he’d just finally managed to admit to himself that he was never going to catch Cross doing or saying anything actually helpful to his mission. Tyki could follow him forever and get nothing.

There was no way he was staying here for years, patiently waiting for something to slip. If he couldn’t do it stealthily, he’d have to go on the offensive and see what happened.

If he was honest with himself, though, most of his new resolution came from the fact that he was at the end of his rope with regards to the... Situation.

His dreams had been halls of mirrors for weeks, giving him distorted glimpses of things he couldn’t properly remember which slipped away whenever he thought he’d caught up to them. 

Sitting in a high place somewhere where the wind was full of salt and caprice, leaning over to listen to a low voice in his ear. The thrill of a hunted silence, pressed up too close against someone in a confined space, listening to footsteps on the floorboards outside. The heady bitterness of red wine -- he’s never liked it in this life, but he’d liked it then, he thought.

Seeing Cross in the waking hours was worse yet. He’d never been so embarrassed in his life, but he’d managed to keep a lid on it for the most part to date.

He couldn’t guarantee he’d be able to manage it indefinitely, though.

An intolerable situation could only answered with failure or change.

*

The Christmas Feast had been tolerable so far -- good food, and better liquor than usual -- but Cross had a bad feeling that only grew as the evening wore on.

As he might have guessed, it was Komui’s doing.

As the celebrants were filling up the corners with the last of dinner, Komui cleared his throat and stood up. “ _Sonorus_ ,” he murmured with a subtle flick of his wand, then addressed the student body. “Now that you’re all quite comfortable, I have a surprise for you. Some of you older students may remember the Triwizard Tournament several years ago, and the Yule Ball we hosted for the occasion, yes? It broke tradition somewhat, of course, but everyone had a great deal of fun, so the staff and I have kept it at the backs of our minds. This year, we decided to start a new Hogwarts tradition: not _the_ Yule Ball, perhaps, but _a_ Yule ball.

“We will be serving dessert shortly, and some time thereafter, once the feast has had time to settle, we will be clearing the floor for dancing. Our very own in-house orchestra, led by the very capable Professor Marie, will of course provide the music. When you are tired, you may excuse yourself, but I will very disappointed if I don’t see everyone out there on the floor at least once.”

Cross, unable to look at Komui without resorting to physical violence, opted to watch the students instead. Two-thirds of them looked quite delighted. The remaining third looked openly horrified. He made note of the ones he recognized and resolved to give them better marks in his class in the next term.

“I do, of course, expect the teachers to set an example here,” Komui said then at a much lower volume, turning a blithe smile on his colleagues. “Let’s make this fun for everyone.”

Cross felt a tickle at his ear.

“You especially, Professor Marian,” Komui whispered.

Komui was quite good at projecting his voice to the ears he wanted to reach, and Cross had always hated that habit of his. Komui, of course, knew that full well.

Cross drained the rest of his goblet and filled it up nearly to the brim with good red wine. He wasn’t getting out of this, he knew, but damned if he was going to do it sober. He had perhaps an hour to get well and truly inebriated, before everyone finished dessert and the dancing got underway. That wasn’t much time, considering how much alcohol it took to do the job these days.

He caught Mikk watching him with one eyebrow raised and glared back at him. He might not be able to vent his temper on Komui, because Komui had earned enough forbearance from him to last a good few decades, but Mikk was fair game. He’d be wise to keep his distance.

One hour later, Cross was tolerably sloshed. The tables and benches had been whisked up two dozen feet into the air to tilt gently in the drafts and leave the floor below clear for festivities. The professors’ table had gotten the same treatment, and the orchestra were ensconcing themselves in the opened area.

Komui gave him a look when it was a time, and Cross bit back every scathing thing he wanted to say about the entire farce and Komui’s role in it and descended onto the floor with the rest of the professors.

The revellers began to pair off as he looked around. Allen had already been accosted by his little friend with the spiky hair, and seemed resigned but not entirely unhappy about it. Komui had made a beeline for his sister, who was laughing at him but cheerfully raising her hands up to meet his. Jan had apparently summoned two pairs of rollerskates for himself and his friend from the dorm rooms with a very precise _Accio_ charm, which was impressive and also promised to result in some excellent chaos.

Cross searched for Brigitte, and eventually found her... smiling at Wenhamm, who had already offered her his hand.

He found no salvation in the rest of the crowd. He had no real friends here, and every one of the bare handful he could have tolerated was already paired up.

A gentle hand touched his elbow.

Cross hadn’t felt anyone approaching and swung around, on fierce guard, to find Mikk grinning at him. He looked very much the nobleman tonight in his fine white dress robes. His hair was tidy and he’d left his glasses in his quarters, evidently. His familiar golden eyes were lively with amusement.

“Shall we dance, Professor Marian?” he said, sweeping an unfairly elegant bow as he extended his hand.

“Come again?” said Cross.

“Let’s dance,” Mikk repeated, unfazed. “Or do you not know how? I can teach you, if that’s the case.”

Cross didn’t think of himself a particularly angry person. Most of the time he was very calm. Nigh unflappable, even. But he’d been angry almost constantly since the Ministry had shut him up in this farcical hellhole, and never more angry than he was in this moment.

His face was absolutely still, even under the mask. “I know,” he said, very carefully, “how to dance.”

Mikk raised his eyebrows and extended his hand an inch further.

A good number of students were watching now, wide-eyed, equal parts fascinated and concerned. Cross looked over a bit and caught Komui watching him with a bland expression that promised profound suffering if he put a toe out of line.

Cross cleared his throat and took a very deep breath and said “If you insist.”

Mikk’s grin shifted into a smile that almost looked genuine. He stepped into one of the innermost circles of Cross’s personal space and put one gloved hand on Cross’ chest and the other in Cross’ hand, implicitly offering him the lead.

If Cross had been bluffing, that would have made for a very awkward moment, but thankfully he wasn’t. When the music started a few moments later, they set off across the floor together and cut a reasonably elegant figure.

Mikk clearly wasn’t accustomed to following, but he adapted with impressive grace and didn’t bump Cross’ toes even once. After the first few focused seconds, he even appeared to be enjoying himself, which was frankly offensive.

Unfortunately, Cross was also enjoying himself, and resented that even more.

It felt so familiar. It felt like he could close his eyes and be somewhere else until he opened them again, with a bright marble floor under his feet and someone else in his arms.

Someone with striking golden eyes and black, black hair.

At last, the keystone clicked into place. He crossed the bridge.

“Ahh,” he said. “It’s _you_.”

He should have been shaken. He should have been worried for Allen, because if one Noah was here it was very likely there was another. He should have been angry enough to turn Mikk into a pile of ashes on the floor on the spot and been done with it.

And he was, he thought. All of that was stewing around somewhere inside him. He just couldn’t feel it through the rest of it, and the rest of it was much... warmer.

Mikk’s brows were furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

Of course he wouldn’t remember, not entirely. Cross knew how the Noah take on immortality worked... or rather, how it didn’t. Mikk wouldn’t remember Cross -- beyond, perhaps, some vague and unsubstantiated impressions -- but Cross remembered _him_.

Which was to say, Cross remembered _her_.

“I’ll tell you all about it if you get us out of here when this song ends,” Cross said.

“Apparition is banned on Hogwarts grounds,” Mikk said, the very picture of the baffled innocent.

Cross snorted. “You and I both know that isn’t what I meant.”

Mikk dropped the smile, finally, but his hand tightened on Cross’ and he leaned in slightly. “You have yourself a deal,” he said very quietly, “but for now, let’s dance.”

Saying nothing, Cross accepted that and pulled Mikk in a little closer. He might be shaken and worried and furious and all of those other things somewhere underneath, but at the moment he really did just want to dance with this person he hadn’t seen in decades and had -- if he was very honest with himself -- missed quite a lot.

Despite how everything had ended.

*

When the song drew to its end, Tyki realized Cross had navigated them to the outer edge of the floor, right where they needed to be.

Just before the last notes sounded, before everyone split up and started looking for new partners, Tyki caught Cross’ hand and pulled him quickly through the wall into the deserted hallway beyond, and then through another series of walls until they emerged into small room with a pair of comfortable-looking green armchairs and a roaring fireplace. Tyki had never seen it before, but it would do. He locked the door.

“I’ve always wondered how you do that,” Cross mumured.

“I don’t think I could explain it to you, beyond the fact that it’s a type of Transfiguration,” Tyki admitted. “I just sort of... do it.”

“You should let me study it one of these days,” Cross suggested.

Tyki snorted. “I think you know that’s not going to happen. Now, about that promise--”

“Right,” said Cross.

Then he caught Tyki by the embroidered lapels of his beautiful robes and slammed him into the wall with considerable force. 

Tyki wheezed, more caught off guard than in actual pain. “What was _that_ for?” he asked, aggrieved. “Well, I mean, it could be any number of things really, so which--”

“You’re going to tell me why you’re here,” Cross said, low and unmistakably dangerous. “I know who are and I know who you’re with, so why are you here, and why have you been watching me all this time?”

Taken aback, Tyki furrowed his brow. “Isn’t it obvious? The Earl is worried you might be a threat.”

“Why now, after all this time?”

“Well, you’ve found him, haven’t you? Our wayward brother?”

Cross drew his wand and put the tip to Tyki’s chin. Tyki wasn’t particularly worried -- he could melt into the wall at any point if he really felt threatened -- but he wasn’t all that comfortable with it, either. He frowned.

“There’s no use hiding it, you know, our sister was already here when he transferred in and it didn’t take her long to realize what she was looking at. We’ve just been waiting and watching to see what he’d do. It’s entirely possible that our brother will never wake up, and there’s no sense making an enemy of Hogwarts and alerting the Ministry to our activities if we don’t have to.”

“Sister?” Cross echoed. “That must be the little Ravenclaw girl. Ah, of course, she must be the dreamer. She’s changed her face, and I never had her in any of my classes, so I didn’t get close enough to catch on. I knew there was something odd about her. I should have paid more attention.”

“We’re not here to start a fight,” Tyki promised. “Unless our brother wakes up, in which case all bets are naturally off.”

“Naturally,” Cross agreed drily.

“So,” said Tyki, “now that that’s out of the way--”

With a deft twist, he slipped Cross’ hold and threw his weight against Cross’ shoulder, spinning him neatly until his back was against the wall and Tyki held the same position Cross had a moment ago. “You gave me your word that you’d tell me whatever I wanted to know,” he said. “Are you going to break it?”

Cross grinned. It was an unsettling sight. “I wasn’t planning to, no. Go on.”

“You knew me, didn’t you?”

It was such a relief to finally say it out loud. The déjà vu had been winding up every muscle in his body for months, invading his dreams, catching him off guard at all hours. He’d hardly been able to breathe around it. And now he had the object of that obsession pinned to a wall, grinning at him, finally about to give him an answer.

“Oh, yes,” said Cross, “I knew you. At least, I thought I did.”

In a twinkling, Tyki found himself with his own back against the wall once again. He felt like an abused hotcake. There were two perfectly good armchairs not ten feet away, where they could be having a nice civil discussion instead, but apparently that wasn’t an option, and Tyki wasn’t really complaining. The physicality of this suited them both better anyway. “How did--”

Cross interrupted. “What do you feel when you look at me? When you’re close to me, like this?”

Tyki considered the question frankly. The lust was obvious, but he wasn’t about to say that first, and there were other things in there, all muddled together in a rather upsetting stew. “Anger,” he said, because it was true. “Regret? I think? It’s hard to tell without knowing the context. And... other things.”

“Regret?” echoed Cross. “Well, isn’t that something. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“I’d apologize,” Tyki said insincerely, “if I knew what for--”

“It’s thirty-five years too late for that,” Cross said. 

“Well, I might owe you one, but I’m angry too, so don’t you owe me in turn?”

Cross scowled. “I wasn’t the one who betrayed the cause.”

“Then what am I angry for?” Tyki asked, feeling that anger increasingly the longer they stood there glaring at each other. It was nebulous, quite unmoored from any kind of useful context, but powerful enough. “What did we do to each other?”

“Well, for starters, a lot of this,” Cross said, indicating their present position. “Also, a lot of this.”

Tyki’s body responded before he realized quite was happening, reaching up with sudden freedom to twine his arms around Cross’ neck and shoulders. He was being kissed. Very thoroughly, very commandeeringly kissed. He felt, abruptly, like an entirely different person for a long moment, someone who had done this many times and knew exactly what they wanted.

“Followed,” said Cross on breaking away some time later and shoving Tyki back against the wall with a forearm to his throat, “by more of this, most of the time.”

Tyki, having had quite enough, reached casually into Cross’ chest and caught his heart in a gentle but firm grasp. “Get off me,” he croaked.

“That too,” Cross said, apparently unfazed. “At which point I usually do something very loud and messy, but this is not the time or place for that.” He backed off, leaving Tyki to massage his throat. “You look very different, but it seems it’s still you in there, whether you remember yourself or not.”

That made something inside Tyki feel uncomfortably warm, and not at all in an angry way.

“Please,” said Tyki when he felt a little recovered. “Tell me our story.”

Cross shrugged. “You have most of it already, I think. I was Nea’s friend. He had a plan, a good plan. A way to end the secret war without a massacre on either side. I supported him, and for a while, so did you. And we were... this, for all that while. Then in the end, when Road refused to abandon the Earl, you were torn, and eventually sided with them. Nea lost his body, I lost my eye, you died in the conflagration along with most of the family.” He was very matter-of-fact, but there was a wealth of pain and regret in there, only half-heartedly hidden.

Tyki traced the edge of Cross’ mask, gentle and thoughtful. “I don’t remember any of that,” he said, “and yet, I do. I think I was angry with you for retaliating with so much force when we came for you, because I thought you could have stopped us without killing us.”

“You didn’t intend to stop _us_ without killing us,” Cross pointed out. “I won’t apologize.”

“Then neither will I.”

“Fine.”

“Are you still angry?”

“Yes.”

“So am I. Would you like to fight?”

Cross grinned. “I might. Would you like to do something else instead?”

“I might,” said Tyki before he could stop himself. “We should probably try not to break anything, though.”

“It’s fine if you do, you know,” said a third voice from the doorway at that moment, light and childish and very, very amused.

Cross and Tyki leapt apart, attempted to recombobulate themselves, and squinted through the low light at the silhouette in the gap. It was short with spiky hair. There was another behind it, taller with a smoother outline.

“This is the Room of Requirement,” Road said, grinning ferally. “It exists because you need it. Nothing in here is real; it’ll just remake itself for the next person. So don’t worry, get as wild as you like.”

Mortified, Tyki stared at her, trying to find some words. “I thought the door was locked...”

“It is, because you needed it to be,” Road assured him. “No one else will find you here. Not even the headmaster. This is just a dream the castle is having.” _Which is why it couldn’t hide from me_ , he heard, though she hadn’t finished that sentence out loud. He knew her well.

Allen’s face came into view next as Tyki’s eyes adjusted to the light. He looked astonished, and was blushing quite ferociously. “Master-- I didn’t think-- Don’t you hate him--” he stammered, then collected himself. “Well, I suppose it’s none of my business.”

“No, it isn’t,” Cross said sharply. “Go to bed, you brat.”

Allen made a rebellious face, but withdrew obediently. His expression was already shifting to thoughtfulness before he moved out of view.

Road lingered a moment longer to give them both a painfully slow and communicative wink, then shut the door and left them in peace.

“She adores him, you know,” Cross said. “Isn’t that going to be something of a problem?”

Tyki winced. “Almost certainly, but there isn’t much I can do about it. As the eldest, she outranks me, and I could hardly force her to do anything the hard way. I’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it. _If_ we get to it. For what it’s worth, I sincerely hope we don’t.”

“For your sake, I hope so too,” Cross said. “If you threaten that boy, I’ll take you apart. Again.”

“You’ll try,” said Tyki, in a frankly prurient tone, openly baiting Cross in the hopes that he would bite... in several senses of the word.

Cross looked around the room. “Those chairs look sturdy,” he commented. “If we’re going to break them, we’ll need to put some effort into it.”

Tyki met his unmasked eye, and all at once felt like everything was essentially right with the world for the first time since he’d come to Hogwarts.

He answered Cross’ growing grin and loosened his collar.

“Let’s dance.”

**END**


End file.
